


Symphony

by keennziieee



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual talk of Reid's drug addiction, F/M, I mean he has to tell her at some point, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Swearing, no beta read oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keennziieee/pseuds/keennziieee
Summary: In which Spencer Reid meets someone with abilities that rival his own, and he's not sure what to do with that.A fic set pre-Maeve. Think around season 5 or 6, after "100," but before "JJ."
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Hi lovelies! This is the first fanfiction that I've ever actually published seriously online, so here's hoping it's not a complete dumpster fire. Nonetheless, please be kind, though I do welcome constructive criticism. A few apologies, sorry for the lack of indentations where new paragraphs and lines of speech begin. If anyone knows how to fix that when I'm pasting text from google docs, please let me know, because I find it a little irritating! :) Sorry for any OOC behavior, I did my best to keep everyone as in character as possible. Finally, disclaimer, I don't own any of the characters save for Grace and any other random people/names that pop up. Thanks for reading, much love! xx

  
  


It was a brutal case, the kind that made Dr. Spencer Reid question whether or not he could continue doing this job for years to come. Sure, all the cases they worked were brutal, but was there anything worse than an unsub who preyed on kids? Spencer had always had a soft spot for children, perhaps there was something psychologically telling there but he decided not to analyze  _ that _ today. The cases involving kids always hit him harder now that he had his godson, Henry, in his life. Though things were a little odd at first, thinking about the woman he had once had serious feelings for being in love and having a child with someone else, but he had grown to love Henry more than he knew was possible. It was the closest thing to unconditional love the young profiler had ever felt. It was different from the love he felt for his mother, which could hardly be described as unconditional because he avoided visiting her. 

They were standing outside a beautiful private school in the suburbs of D.C., and Spencer swallowed hard as he observed the building. It was a quintessential private school, gray stone walls covered in climbing tendrils of ivy and surrounded by shady oak trees. The school population consisted of children ages five through eighteen, and many of them were the kids of high-ranking officials in every single facet of the government. The FBI director’s children had just graduated from the school last year, and if the uncomfortable look on Hotch’s face was any indication, Jack probably would attend a school like this someday, if he didn’t already. Children and grandchildren of diplomats, congressmen and women, senators, judges, and attorneys filled the marble-floored halls and classrooms every school year. If their family lived out of town or frequently traveled, several of the older students stayed in dormitories towards the back of school grounds. Spencer figured that he’d probably get to see those in a little while. But what really threw him, and it happened at several places they visited, was that on the outside looking in, you’d never think that this school could be involved in something sinister.

Spencer looked around as the team stepped into the grand foyer of the administration building. Everything was spotless of course, and he wondered if students were even allowed in this building. Based on the state of the red running carpets, he figured it was a no on that question. Almost immediately, a burly security guard stepped towards the team, and Spencer mindlessly reached for his badge to prove his identity. He quickly removed his gun from his holster and handed it over to the guard, who gave the reason for “not frightening the students” as rationale for confiscating the teams’ weapons.  _ Hotch looks pissed _ , Spencer thought. The senior profiler’s lips were pressed tightly together. Hotch had little patience for this kind of thing, and Spencer always suspected that having his Glock at his hip was a sort of security blanket thing for him. He probably felt naked without it. Meanwhile, Spencer was happy to be rid of his revolver. 

“Office is that way. Talk to the secretary, she’ll direct you to Dean Rutledge.” The guard explained gruffly, while pointing towards the left. Spencer fell into step next to Emily, who looked altogether irritated to be there. Spencer shot her a quizzical glance.

“If I had a dollar for every expensive private school my mother sent me to, I wouldn’t be working this job.” Emily gestured at the hallway, lined with oak office doors that were polished to a gleam and adorned with name plates of their occupants. “And they all looked  _ exactly _ like this one. I swear I’m having flashbacks.” She rolled her eyes. 

Spencer nodded in silent acknowledgement. There was something about this hallway, this building, this campus, that made him want to clamp his mouth shut and remain quiet until they were off the grounds. Everything seemed so still and so pristine that if he were to utter a single word, everything would come collapsing down on top of them. He couldn’t relate to Emily’s brief rant; this luxurious building was a far cry from the Las Vegas public schools he had attended. Of course, his mother could never have afforded to send him some place like this, not on a professor’s salary. 

At the end of the hallway was a set of double doors, shining gold letters above the frame read  _ Dean of Students _ . Through an inlaid window of clouded glass, Spencer could make out the outline of a woman sitting at a desk and typing. Rossi, never one to wait for an answer to a knock, pushed the door open and the redheaded woman at the desk glanced up a moment later. 

“Ah, you must be the FBI agents,” she said, rising from her desk chair and smoothing her black pencil skirt. She reached out a hand to Hotch. “Abigail Mercer. I’m Dean Rutledge’s secretary. She’ll be out to greet you shortly.” In turn, they all shook hands with the secretary as they introduced themselves. 

“Dr. Reid.” Spencer said, a bit curtly. He didn’t like how Abigail raised an eyebrow at him and his disheveled appearance, his messy, too-long hair, crooked tie, and slouching posture. Compared to the presentable other team members, he was aware of his look as some sort of crazed 20-something prep school dropout. He looked like he had tagged along on one case with the team and was now in this job far too deep to get out. Honestly, that wasn’t too far from the truth. Meanwhile, David Rossi exuded the genial warmth and extraversion of his Italian upbringing, which meant people instantly took a liking to him. Spencer was one of those people, though he was loath to admit that he had liked the older man from the first day he stepped into the bullpen, since the others had been so suspicious. Hotch stood up ramrod straight, and with his perfectly pressed suit and tie he was the epitome of his prosecutor past. Emily Prentiss was beautiful, in an intimidating sort of way with her bluntly cut black hair and sharp features. She was strongly contrasted to the sweet-faced JJ, characterized by sparkling blue eyes and golden blonde hair falling over her shoulders. And Morgan? Well, Spencer assumed that when you looked like Derek Morgan, anyone with two X chromosomes automatically liked you. 

A door to their left swung open and an older woman with her grey hair pinned neatly into a chignon strode out. Abigail, who had settled back into her office chair, stood up abruptly, causing her mug of coffee to wobble slightly. 

“Ma’am, these are the FBI agents who have come to investigate the missing students.” Abigail introduced them to the principal.

The principal nodded slightly to Abigail, who, seeming satisfied with her boss’s response, sat back down and resumed whatever paperwork she had been working on before their arrival. 

The principal smiled graciously, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Spencer suspected Botox. 

“Thank you for coming so quickly. On behalf of the school, we really appreciate it.” She made eye contact with each of the agents individually. “My name is Elaina Rutledge, and I’m the dean of students here at Oakfield Academy.” Spencer studied the principal intently. She couldn’t be less than 55, but she still wore high heels and a pencil skirt to work. Instead of aging her, the grey hair gave her an elegant if severe look. 

“What can you tell me about the school and the students that attend?” Hotch asked.

“Well, we’re a rather selective school, taking the best of the best here. Most of the students are children of powerful people, celebrities, politicians, and the like. We have a few scholarship students who are here because of their stellar scores on standardized testing. Many of our students have parents who are currently working abroad, whether it be for diplomacy or movie shooting, so they live here. Even in the summer, we allow students to reside in our dormitories if their parents or guardians are away on business. You must understand, we are an incredibly safe place for students. We pride ourselves on our security measures, it’s on par with that of Congress. We know who goes in and out, when they leave and when they return. Students have strict curfews, they’re to be back on campus at 8 P.M. and in their dormitories by 10, and every dormitory has a live-in teacher who keeps an eye on his or her house of students, much like a resident assistant.”

“We’ll need a list of the live-in teachers, please. I’d assume they have very close relationships with their houses of students?” Hotch inquired.

“Extremely,” responded the dean. “Students tend to really bond with their house teacher; many of them stay in the same house with the same teacher for years.”

“Good, that means they’ll have information on students’ daily routines,” said Hotch, and took a piece of paper from the dean’s hand. Leaning over, Spencer could see it was a list of the teachers they needed to talk to.

“The students are just finishing up their last class of the day, and will either be headed back to their rooms or off campus,” added Dean Rutledge. “You should be able to talk to the teachers in just a few minutes.”

Hotch glanced down the list. “Okay, Morgan and I will take George Phillips, calculus. He’s in charge of the house that our first victim belonged to, Dickens House. JJ, Rossi, start with Dr. Stephanie Maddox in the chemistry lab, she’s in charge of Copeland House. Our second victim, Rachel Myers, lived there. And Reid, Prentiss, you’ll take Gracelyn Everett. She’s the music teacher, and in charge of Lucy Thayer’s house, our current victim. She might have been the last person to see Lucy before she was taken. Report back to me when you can.”

  


Spencer and Emily set off to the arts building, following the carved signs with directional arrows to the music wing. Emily still looked reluctant and suspicious, Spencer noticed. Her body language was stiff overall, her sharp jawline was set firm, so much so that Spencer could see the tightness in her facial muscles. Emily seemed to notice Spencer studying her, and she shot him a pointed look and Spencer quickly glanced away, but Emily’s jaw visibly relaxed. 

They came up on the music wing, and entered through an ornate door, which looked more like it belonged to a church than to a school. The hallways were alive with sound, sharply contrasted to the stifling silence of the administration building. The music seemed to surround them, a function of the architecture and decor of the building. The black and white marble tiles and stone walls created something of an echo chamber, and Spencer couldn’t help but crack a slight smile at the strain of a Beethoven piano sonata coming from down a hall to his right. His eidetic memory made it easy for him to remember all the classical pieces he’d ever heard, and he had fond memories associated with the twenty-third sonata,  _ Appasionata _ . 

“That hall must house the practice rooms,” Emily said, looking over to their right. “I think we need to go this way.” They took a turn to the left and began walking down a wide hallway. It was lined with double doors left ajar, and looking in, Spencer could see the array of chairs scattered throughout the room. Ensemble rehearsal spaces. 

“Did you ever take music lessons?” Emily asked Spencer, somewhat absentmindedly as she peeked into each of the rooms on the left side of the hallway.

“No,” replied Spencer, “My father didn’t really care about that kind of thing, and too much noise always seemed to exacerbate my mom’s symptoms, so it was never an option, I guess.”

“My mother made me take piano lessons starting at the age of 3.” Emily rolled her eyes. “I hated it, but heaven forbid the ambassador’s daughter not be able to play an instrument. I always wanted to play the trumpet, but it wasn’t ‘ladylike’ enough.”

Spencer furrowed his brow as he considered what Emily said. 

“Here we are.” Emily said, and the pair of them entered into a large, well-lit music classroom. The walls were covered in colorful posters about the instruments of the orchestra, composers, and sheet music. There was a circular rug on the floor, with a border of music notes, and a baby grand piano sat at the front of the classroom adjacent to a whiteboard. A class of 20 children were sitting on the rug in a circle, while one sat at the piano bench, poking at keys on the piano.

The young blonde girl at the piano cried out, “Miss Everett! What note is this?” A plump finger landed on a key, and a note rang out. 

“B!” Answered a voice from the center of the circle. Spencer looked over and saw a young woman sitting in the middle of the circle of students, who all appeared enraptured by her. She was small in build, dressed in a flowy blue shirt, her long brown hair pulled over her shoulder in a French braid. “Oh!” She stood up and appeared to brush dust off of her pants and smoothed her shirt. Another note came from the piano. She smiled, a radiant one that caught Spencer slightly off guard. It had been a while since he’d seen someone look so genuinely happy at their job. “Class is over, Emma!” She called over to the piano. “Line up at the door everyone!” She clapped her hands twice. As the girl she had called Emma walked by, she leaned down and smiled again. “That was an F-sharp.” Emma looked up at her teacher, delighted. 

As another teacher, or maybe aide, Spencer wasn’t sure, appeared at the door to take the line of children back to their classroom, the music teacher strode over to the agents. “Can I help you?” she asked, concern darkening her light blue eyes, and her eyebrows furrowed. Spencer noted that this was a behavior much like his own. He spoke up quickly.

“Gracelyn Everett? Hi, I’m uh, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss.” He was speaking quickly, quicker than normal. He tried to slow his speech down, but there was an underlying feeling of nervousness nagging at him. It wasn’t because of how pretty the young teacher was, right? He was on the job. He had  _ specifically  _ trained himself not to look at anyone in that way while they were on a case. He was there to save a child, and to bring justice to the families of the other two (known) victims. This was far more important than the beautiful woman standing in front of him. Far. More. Important. Spencer shook his head quickly, clearing it. “Um, wha-what was that? That game you were playing with the students?” He asked, trying to build rapport. Miss Everett could be a valuable source of information for their investigation. 

Another bright smile on Gracelyn’s face. “You can call me Grace. Do you know what perfect pitch is, Doctor?” 

“Well, it’s more commonly referred to as absolute pitch, when someone can identify what note is being played, or they can sing a note with no reference, or the really interesting one is when someone can tell you what pitch is being played from an everyday sound, like a car alarm, or even someone’s voice.” Spencer felt his cheeks redden slightly, he was rambling. As he made eye contact with Grace again, he noticed her smile had grown even bigger, and Spencer found himself holding his breath. The few seconds that passed while he held her blue gaze were more like hours. And maybe it was then that Spencer understood what people meant when they said that it felt like time stopped.


	2. Rondo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves! Sorry this took me a hot minute to post! Hope it's okay. Thank you so much for reading! And a little side note: Grace's experiences with perfect pitch and synesthesia are based on my own experiences with perfect pitch and associative synesthesia, so if any of my readers have either, please tell me about your experiences! I would love to include some other people's experiences in Grace's! <3

_ Fuck. You’re staring, damnit, you’re going to scare her, stop it, snap out of it. _ Spencer cleared his throat abruptly, and he felt the red in his cheeks deepen. He forced himself to look away from the light blue eyes that had met his. “Anyway,” he said, “It’s a very interesting phenomenon. Scientists don’t really know why it happens. Some think it’s just an innate ability, others think it’s learned, others think it can only be learned through early musical training, and still others think it’s related to another phenomenon called synesthesia, which is often referred to as the ‘crossing of senses’ so one person might hear the note C4, or more commonly called ‘middle C’ and see or associate it with the color red or-” He was cut off with a bubbly laugh from Grace.

“Middle C is green. Forest green, like the color of pine trees.” Grace laughed again.

“I’m sorry?” Spencer responded, confused. 

“You said that middle C was red to some people. That’s...not right.” Grace paused. “At least, it’s not right to me. Middle C is forest green. Like pine trees, and...and emeralds.” She smiled slightly, and hummed a note softly. Spencer could only assume it was middle C, but honestly, she could be humming something completely different and he’d be none the wiser. 

“I can’t...it’s just not red, how can anyone think of C as red?” Grace said, more to herself than Spencer. 

Emily stood back, allowing Spencer to take the lead on this one. It was interesting to observe how the two of them interacted. Grace was a lot like Spencer, just with music instead of science and math, Emily noted. A good rapport between the two of them could be a big factor in whether or not they found Lucy Thayer, let alone found her alive. 

Something seemed to interrupt Grace’s train of thought, and her whole demeanor appeared to change. A few moments ago, she had been almost child-like, overcome with the joy of music and Spencer had no doubt that that made her a very good teacher. Now she looked concerned again, and her expression darkened. “I’m sorry, but you’re the FBI agents, right? You’re here about Lucy, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded mournful as she spoke the missing girl’s name. “She’s been missing since the end of classes yesterday.”

“Lucy was one of your resident students, right?” Spencer asked.

Grace’s voice shook a little as she spoke. “Yeah. Sweet girl. She and I had a special bond. She’s been in my house since I started teaching here three years ago. You don’t get a whole lot of students like her in your career. Smart, kind, beautiful. And she was my best violinist. Her parents just bought her a new violin. She’s supposed to be concertmistress for our concert next week.” Her mouth twisted and she blinked a few times, clearing away tears. Spencer felt a brief pang in his chest as he saw how visibly upset Grace was by Lucy’s disappearance. 

Blue eyes sparkling with tears, Grace asked, “Why would someone take her?” Her voice broke a little on the last word. “Lucy’s only 13. She’s a good girl, she’s never hurt anyone!” 

“Grace, we think that the man we’re looking for... we think he has something against these students’ families. What can you tell me about Lucy’s mother and father?” Spencer asked. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and take Grace’s hand. He wanted to try and comfort the young teacher, who was so obviously distraught over the disappearance of one of her first-ever students.

“Her mom is a lawyer...Anne Thayer. I think she’s a criminal defense attorney, or maybe a prosecutor. I remember hearing Lucy talking to some other girls in the common room one evening. She was talking about some big case her mother had gotten, something about a murder, I think.”

Spencer nodded, trying to be reassuring. “That’s really helpful, Grace. What about Lucy’s father?”

“I’ve never met him. Mrs. Thayer and Lucy’s father divorced when she was eight. At least, that’s what her student file says. She’s never said anything bad about him, but now that I think about it, she’s never said much about him at all.” Grace answered, biting her bottom lip. Spencer stopped breathing for a second when she did that, and he had to look away. Grace swallowed hard, and looked up at the ceiling, blinking back tears again. 

“Okay.” Spencer said. Seeing Grace so upset was beginning to really bother him, and he figured it was probably best to steer the conversation away from the fact that Lucy was missing. “Grace, do you think you could show us Lucy’s room and the house?”

“Uh, sure. It might be a bit loud and messy right now. Usually the chef is preparing dinner right about now and the girls are getting back from classes right now.”

“That’s fine,” Spencer replied gently. “It’s best we see it in the most natural state, anyway. Can you walk us there?” Spencer was careful to keep his words gentle and unassuming, best not to upset Grace any more than she already was.

“Sure.” Gracelyn said. “Let me just clean up some stuff around here. It shouldn’t take long, and then we can head out. Feel free to look around, if it would be helpful to you guys.”

Spencer took her up on the offer and began walking slowly around the classroom. The room was well-lit, the far wall was nearly completely windowed, which allowed for the view of a gradually setting sun. It would be a chilly walk to the house, Spencer noted, as the wind began to pick up and blow the leaves around. The back wall was lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves and cabinets, which is where Spencer wandered over to next. Emily studied the piano and placed her fingers on the keys gently. 

Grace looked up from the papers she was gathering at her desk. “Do you play, Agent Prentiss?” 

Emily chuckled under her breath, “A bit. It’s been a while since I played on a real piano. I have a keyboard in my apartment, but you know, it’s not quite the same.” Her voice trailed off as she ran her fingers over the white keys and sat down at the bench. 

“I thought you didn’t like the piano?” Spencer asked, turning towards the front of the room where Emily sat. 

“Well, I loved music. Still do. I just wished I had taken a different instrument. But I learned piano, so piano it is.” She responded, setting her left hand up in the shape of a D minor chord and pressing the damper pedal with her right foot. Gently, Emily depressed the keys and a beautiful, dark mass of sound rang from the piano. “D minor was always a favorite of mine,” she said to Grace, smiling slightly.

“Mine too.” Grace agreed, “There’s just something so mysterious and rich about it.”

Spencer looked over from the bookshelves he was perusing. Titles like  _ Musicophilia, This Is Your Brain on Music, What To Listen For In Music, The Music Lesson,  _ and  _ Poetics of Music in the Form of Six Lessons _ were just a few that stood out to him on the shelf. “What color is D minor for you?” He asked Grace, still scanning the titles. 

There was a pause before she replied. “D minor is a swirl of a wine-red color and steel blue. But they don’t mix. D minor isn’t purple at all.” Grace shoved her laptop and the papers she had been gathering into her bag, and began walking towards Spencer. “You can borrow some of them, if you’re interested.” She said quietly.

Spencer jumped slightly, a bit startled by Grace’s sudden appearance next to him. “Oh, uh, thank you!” He smiled, and began gathering books off the shelves. “I’ll have these back to you tomorrow,” he said, shifting the weight of the five books he grabbed to his left hip, and placed each book gently into his crossbody bag.

“Tomorrow?” Grace asked, her expression shocked. “You’re going to read five books. And have them back to me tomorrow?” 

“Yes.” Spencer nodded. And then it hit him. “Oh!” He blushed slightly. “I can read 20,000 words per minute. This will only take me about…” Spencer thought for a moment. “Four and half hours tonight.”

Grace glanced over at Emily, who was waiting by the classroom door. “Is he being serious?” She asked incredulously.

“Unfortunately.” Emily deadpanned.

“It’s really not a big deal you know, most people can learn to read at fairly fast speeds with enough practice and by minimizing subvocalization and using their finger to keep track of the line they’re on or the words. It’s just a matter of training the brain. Actually, if your reading speed was even only 600 words per minute, you’d be able to read the entirety of Bram Stoker’s  _ Dracula _ in about three hours.”

Grace’s mouth gaped slightly. “ _ Only _ 600 words per minute.” She looked back at Emily, who shook her head, laughing.

“It’s actually quite attainable. Are you ready to go?” Spencer asked Grace, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips as he saw Grace all bundled up for the chilly weather outside. Her long braid was tucked over her shoulder and hidden partially by a knit beanie perched on top of her head, and the lower half of her face was obscured by a thick scarf.

“Yeah, we’ll head towards the house.” She replied. 

The three of them headed out of the classroom and back through the music building the way that Spencer and Emily had entered. Occasionally, Grace would poke her head into one of the classrooms and wish another teacher or student a good evening. By the time they stepped outside, it had begun to snow and the ground was growing icy. The wind was blowing harder. Grace led the way and Emily and Spencer followed close behind. As they walked down the steps of the school, the icy stairs got the best of Grace, and the heel of her boot caught on the stairs. She began to slip, and let out a surprised little gasp. Spencer instinctively turned and grabbed her, preventing her from face planting on the pavement. He tried to ignore the tingle that traveled up his spine as he felt her hands grip his arm to steady herself. He reached behind her and held Grace up by the small of her back. It was all he could do not to pull her in closer to him. She was already right by his side, he could smell her perfume and felt wisps of her hair tickle his face as she recovered her balance.

“You okay?” Spencer asked, slightly surprised at how tightly her thin fingers clutched at the sleeve of his coat.

“Yeah.” Grace replied, her hand traveling to her chest as if to slow her heartbeat. “Jeez. Thank you, Dr. Reid.” She looked up at him and smiled. Spencer became aware of how small she actually was. He towered over her at 6’1”, and she couldn’t have been much more than five-two. 

A beat passed between them, and Spencer realized he was still holding her around the waist. “Oh, sorry.” He quickly pulled his arm back and shoved his hand into his pocket. 

“You’re fine.” Grace replied, giving him another half-smile. They turned onto a wide path lined with Victorian-style houses, which were rather large. Spencer figured they probably held about 20 students each. Every house had a large sign on the lawn with the name of the house.  _ Dickens House, Copland House, Hamilton House _ . They were each named after influential historical figures, musicians, authors, and probably wealthy donors. “So my house is Doyle House, all the way down at the end. Sorry for the long walk.” Grace said to Emily and Spencer. 

“Doyle House? As in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?” Spencer asked, a hint of excitement invading his voice. 

“Yep,” Grace said. “According to the school board, he was the favorite author of the first dean.”

“He’s one of mine, too.” 

“Really? What’s your favorite work of his?

Spencer thought for a moment, “ _ The Narrative of John Smith _ .”

“Interesting. Mine is  _ The Sign of Four _ .”

“An excellent choice,” Spencer grinned. Grace really was something else. A musical genius, no doubt, and her perfect pitch and synesthesia fascinated him. And she was well-read. Not to mention, she was beautiful. Not that Spencer really cared what someone looked like, for him it was all about the intellectual and emotional connection that he could form with someone, but the piercing blue eyes, dusting of freckles, and plump lips certainly didn’t hurt. And the way she interacted with her students! He thought back to how the students had been enraptured by her during the end of the music lesson earlier, staring at her as she sat in the middle of their little circle. It was like she was the sun, and her students were absorbing not only her knowledge, but also her kindness and sheer radiance.  _ Shit _ , Spencer thought. He really didn’t have time for romantic interests. Not now, not ever. The BAU took up all of his time. Profiling was such a demanding job. After all, he stood on the sidelines and he saw what it did to Haley and Hotch’s marriage. Neither Emily or Morgan had had a steady relationship in years, despite both being attractive enough to have plenty of options. And Rossi? Rossi was on his what, third failed marriage? In fact, it seemed like JJ and Will were the only ones who had the work-life balance figured out, and Spencer knew it could be rough, even for them. It just would never work. He needed to stop being distracted by Grace. Grace wasn’t the focus of the investigation. He needed to do his job. He needed to find Lucy. He could worry about the feelings that were causing his pulse to race and hands to sweat later. In fact, he would try not to worry about them at all, and then before he knew it, they’d be back in Quantico, far removed from Oakfield Academy and it’s angelic genius of a music teacher, and then he’d be off on the jet to some other state with another case to keep his mind occupied. It would be fine. He would be fine, he’d be focused and he’d save people's lives and bring justice and closure to families, just like he’d always done. It would be fine.  _ There’s nothing wrong with admiring her,  _ he told himself.  _ You just need to remember that it’s not something that’s possible for you. _ Spencer set his mind to the case and Lucy Thayer’s whereabouts, resolving to simply admire Gracelyn Everett from a distance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update today, I actually quite like how this chapter turned out! Thank youfor taking the time to read, all love <3 xx

The three of them came up on Grace’s house, Doyle House. The house itself was made of brick, with a spacious front porch that wrapped around the entire facade of the home. The porch was adorned with scattered chairs, which Spencer assumed were for the students to study outside and socialize. The house was taller than it was wide, much like the other houses that lined the back street of Oakfield Academy’s campus. Spencer wasn’t too sure how they fit so many students into that house, because while it was a large structure, it was hard to imagine more than eight people living in it. 

They walked up the steps to the front door of the house. Spencer kept a close eye on Grace as she ascended the three steps to the porch of the house. Next to the door was a keypad, which Grace used to punch in a four-digit number that unlocked the front door. 

“Welcome to Doyle House.” She said, opening the front door and ushering Emily and Spencer inside. The house could only be described as warm and inviting. A narrow staircase led up to the rooms on the second floor to the right of the foyer, and a small chandelier lit up the entryway. To their left was a comfortable-looking sitting room, the walls lined with bookshelves, and a fire crackling in a stone hearth. The smell of the burning wood mixed with something savory being prepared in the kitchen directly to the back of the foyer. Over on the right, behind the staircase was a formal dining room. A few students sat at the dining table, studying and picking at their dinners. Voices rang from all corners of the house, excited shouts from girls discussing the events of the day, while others called for them to be quiet while people were studying. 

“Jess, do you mind?! I’m trying to do calculus!”

“Sorry, Kelsey! I was just telling Beth that Josh…” Spencer tuned out the rest of the loud conversation coming from the dining room and followed Emily and Grace to the back of the foyer, where they entered into the kitchen. 

With its yellow walls and long breakfast bar, the kitchen was cozy and filled with a mouthwatering smell. A short, grey-haired woman turned from the oven to greet them. “Oh, hello Grace! Do we have company?”

“Sort of, Mary. These are the FBI agents.” She lowered her voice so as not to draw the attention of any students passing by the kitchen door. “They’re here about Lucy.”

Mary’s face fell as Grace told her the purpose of the visit. “I take it they’ve still not found her?”

“No ma’am,” Emily spoke up. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Could you tell us the last time you saw Lucy?” 

Mary rested her elbows on the counter and untied the neck of her apron. “She wasn’t around for dinner yesterday. Come to think of it, she didn’t come back to the house for lunch either. I figured she went to study in the library or something, and just brought a snack with her for lunch. She was around for breakfast though. She always makes sure to thank me after a meal, and I remember she enjoyed the pancakes I made.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Emily nodded and smiled at the cook. “That’s very helpful.” She turned to Grace. “Could we take a look at Lucy’s room?” 

Grace simply nodded, and motioned for Spencer and Emily to follow her out of the kitchen. “Mary, could you set aside a plate for me? I might be late to dinner.”

“Sure, sweetie. It’ll be in the fridge.” Mary replied, and turned back to the oven.

Spencer and Emily followed Grace up the staircase in the foyer to the second floor. The hallway at the top of the steps was narrow, and each side was lined with doors, almost like a hotel would be. They headed towards the left, and stopped at a door with a wooden name plate on it that read  _ Lucy Thayer _ . Grace opened the door, which was left unlocked. The room itself was pretty standard. A twin bed sat in the center of the room with a thick white duvet spread neatly over it. A laundry basket was overflowing in the right corner, and on the left wall, a desk and bookshelf were cluttered with school books. A violin case sat at the foot of the bed, with a small pile of sheet music messily stacked next to it. Spencer made a beeline for the books, ready to flip through anything telling. 

“She’s smart, really smart.” Mused Spencer to Emily, who nodded as she sifted through Lucy’s desk drawers. Physics textbooks, pre-calculus, classic literature were all found on her shelves. Spencer cracked a small smile as he saw a thick anthology of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works on the shelf. He wondered if it was required reading for all of the Doyle House residents. It wouldn’t surprise him if that was the case.

Grace was hovering in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. “Every student here is pretty advanced, but Lucy is more than that. She’s not smart in the way a lot of these kids are. I mean, they’ve had tutors since birth, practically. Of course they’re advanced. Lucy’s just a natural at everything. And she works hard.”

“Journals.” Emily said, tapping Spencer on the shoulder. That was his job (one he hated, especially when the journals belonged to someone who was considered alive). He took the three notebooks Emily had found, and tucked them into his bag.

“Grace, how much do the students know about what happened to Rachel and David?” Emily asked. Spencer had been wondering how much damage control they were going to have to do with the prominent families who sent their children here. How long before word got out that students were disappearing from the campus, if it hadn’t already?

“Not much. As far as they know, Rachel and David went somewhere with their families. It’s not uncommon for students to go off to a different state or country with their families in the middle of term. They just receive remote instruction, and return to campus whenever they get back. So students being missing for longer periods of time doesn’t really faze them.”

“Probably for the best,” Spencer said to Emily and Grace.

“But is the campus really safe for them?” asked Grace, her eyes worried.

“We’re weighing the options, but right now, the campus is the safest place for the students. If we send them all home, we risk giving the unsub easier access to his targets. At least at the school there are security measures. And Dean Rutledge told us a lot of the students' parents aren’t even in the area, so we can’t risk sending students home where they’ll be alone. Here, they have some safety in numbers.” Emily explained, and Grace seemed to accept the justification.

Grace led the two agents back to the front door of the house, where it was already dark outside. It was time to head back to the precinct and catch up with the other team members about any leads or findings. Emily and Spencer waved goodbye to Mary, who was cleaning plates from the dining room and she wished them luck in their investigation, adding that she hoped they found Lucy soon. 

“I hope you found something of use,” Grace said, biting her bottom lip, prompting another skipped heartbeat in Spencer’s chest. “She’s a smart girl, agents. She would never have just wandered off by herself or with someone she didn’t know.”

“We know.” Emily smiled gently. “We’re going to do everything we can to find her.”

Grace didn’t seem much consoled by Emily’s response, but nodded anyway. Emily said her goodbyes to Grace and began to head down the porch steps.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Dr. Reid?” Grace asked softly, catching Spencer off-guard.

“What? Tomorrow?” Spencer sputtered, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“The books?” Grace clarified. 

“Oh! Oh, of course. I’ll have them back to you at the end of the day tomorrow. Thank you for letting me borrow them, Gracelyn.”

“Really, ‘Grace’ is fine, Dr. Reid.” 

Spencer reddened again, he seemed to be doing a whole lot of that in Grace’s presence. “Sorry. Grace. I’ll have them back to you at the end of the school day tomorrow, Grace.” 

Grace nodded her agreement, and Spencer stepped outside. She began to close the door when Spencer added, “Oh, and Grace? You can...you can call me Spencer, if you want.” Spencer’s cheeks were on fire, and the cold wind outside was not doing anything to stifle the burning. Meanwhile, Emily stood by the house sign, hands jammed in her pockets, and grinning a bit as the young genius attempted to flirt (if you could even call it that) with the pretty teacher. She was kind of proud of him, actually. 

“Okay then, Spencer.” Grace said. “If you hear anything about Lucy, you’ll let me know, right?”

“Of course,” replied Spencer. “I’ll let you know right away. Here’s my card, if you hear anything or remember anything, give me a call. No detail is too small.” He dug around in his pocket and fished out the standard BAU business card with his cell phone number and name on it. 

“Thanks.” Grace said. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Spencer.”

Spencer felt his heart soar as Grace said his name. “Good night, Grace.” And with a smile, he turned and ran to catch up with Emily.

Emily and Spencer walked in silence for a little while, travelling down the back street of the campus, heading back towards the administration building where their car was parked. The night air was crisp and stung at Spencer’s still red cheeks, but he welcomed the cold. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Pretty girl.” Emily said nonchalantly.

“What?”

“Grace,” she added. “Seems like you two got along well.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Spencer tried to keep his voice level, but it was hard. Some part of him, try as he might to shove it down, was excited and downright giddy at the prospect of there being some sort of chemistry between him and Grace.

Emily continued, “You know, she reminds me a lot of you.” 

“Really? How so?” Spencer thought he knew where this conversation was headed.

“Well, let’s just say you weren’t the only genius in that music room earlier.”

“You think Grace is a genius?”

“Well, she’s definitely intelligent, don’t get me wrong.” Emily said. “But I was thinking more musically so. Your preternatural gift for math and science is a whole lot like her gift for music. She didn’t teach herself perfect pitch, or the whole synesthesia thing. It comes as naturally for her as it does for you to do equations in that pretty little head of yours.”

“I don’t know if I’d call that being a genius!” Spencer said indignantly. But he knew full well that he was wrong. Grace was a genius. Even better, she appeared not to know it at all. Spencer found that insanely attractive.  _ Shit, not again. _ He tried to shove that thought out of his mind. 

“Sure it is!” Emily countered. “Not to mention, that level of musical ability often comes with a very high IQ. I wouldn’t be surprised if her IQ wasn’t too far off from your own.”

Spencer made a noise that could only be described as a huff, but he didn’t respond. Though Grace was beautiful and sweet, and undeniably talented and smart, Spencer didn’t always take kindly to not being the resident genius in the room.

Emily laughed, “Whether you know it or not, I think you may have met your match, Dr. Reid.” She lightly elbowed him, and the two of them continued their walk back to the car.

After their debriefing at the precinct, the team retired to their individual hotel rooms. Spencer was glad they were by themselves this time. He usually ended up having to room with Derek, and while he loved the man like an older brother, he just wanted some peace and quiet to begin working on the books Grace had lent him. Once he had showered and changed out of his work clothes, he sprawled out on the double bed, and reached one hand into his bag and pulled out the first book his hand came into contact with. Thumbing through the first few pages of  _ The Music Lesson _ by Victor Wooten, Spencer saw that Grace had highlighted and underlined sentences, paragraphs, and quotes.  _ Why am I not surprised? _ Spencer thought. Grace seemed like the type to mark up her books. Spencer turned back to the cover page of the book. Written in the upper left corner was the name  _ Gracelyn Flora Everett _ in curling script. He stared at the name for a beat, and ran his thumb over it. The words had carved grooves into the paper, indicating that Grace wrote with a heavy hand. _ A high energy person _ , Spencer noted, thinking back to his handwriting analysis classes. Though not always a reliable predictor of someone’s personality, Spencer had found that the way a person wrote, especially the way a person wrote their name, usually held something telling. According to the way Grace wrote, she was a high-energy yet secretive person, as evidenced by the heavy pressure and closed loops of her letters. The high-energy part was definitely accurate, Spencer figured. You needed a lot of mental and physical energy to be a teacher. Secretive though? Interesting. Grace didn’t strike him as someone who’d be terribly secretive, but then again, he knew his teammates would say the same thing about him. And Spencer hid a  _ lot _ from his teammates. 

A reflection of her personality or not, Spencer traced the letters of Grace’s name with his index finger, allowing himself a moment to imagine what could be between them. Not even just Grace specifically, but imagining what could be if he allowed himself to enter into an actual romantic relationship. He’d first ask her out for coffee, and they’d talk about everything under the sun. But the things Spencer wanted to ask Grace! He wanted to talk to her about the books he’d borrowed, get her opinions, ask her if the ideas and pointers in them held true to her students and her classroom. Then, if the coffee date went well, he could invite her over to his apartment and he’d cook her dinner, he’d cook her whatever her favorite was, of course. Spencer would play her all his favorite recordings of Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart, and he’d ask her to describe the colors and pictures she saw in her head when she listened to the music. He wanted to see what she saw when she heard Beethoven’s  _ Appassionata _ Sonata and the  _ Dies Irae _ of Mozart’s  _ Requiem _ . He wanted to sit alone in her classroom with her while she played the piano, and stand behind her and look over her shoulders as her graceful, thin fingers flitted over the keys. He thought about sitting next to her on the piano bench while she showed him how to play a basic melody, he hand on top of his, guiding his fingers to the correct notes. And once he learned how to play something, Spencer thought of how she could rest her head on his shoulder, he would wrap his arm around her waist and pull her close, and he’d play the left hand of a song on the piano while Grace played the right. When they finished, he’d lean down and kiss the top of her head, and then her lips while the final chord hung in the air. 

A thud on the wall snapped Spencer out of his reverie. 

“Hey kid, we’re playing poker over here!” Morgan’s voice sounded through the wall. 

“Be right over!” Spencer called back, and ran his thumb across Grace’s name one last time before setting the book next to his pillow. He’d read it before he went to bed that night. 

"Pretty boy! Come on!" Morgan's voice was growing impatient.

With a soft smile on his lips, Spencer tugged on a sweatshirt (and FBI one, funny enough) and a pair of flannel pajama pants before opening his adjoining door to Morgan’s room and plopping down on the bed to play poker with Emily, Rossi, Morgan, and JJ.


End file.
